


The Finest Ingredient

by TheKnitterati



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Cooking, Curses, Flirting, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Magical Ingredients, Potions Shop Owner Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKnitterati/pseuds/TheKnitterati
Summary: The Weasley family is in need of help. Help that comes in the form of a rare plant, grown only on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. In order to save the day, Harry might have to flirt with Draco Malfoy. Or worse...they both might have to face up to the reality that they fancy each other.





	The Finest Ingredient

**Author's Note:**

> For prompt [#31](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit) \-- submitted by [Nerdherderette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome). 
> 
> I went a bit of a different direction, there, chum. Hope that's alright. 
> 
> The delightful C graciously beta'd for me. Also one of my SAF friends saved my bacon by giving me some continuity advice. All leftover screw ups and plot holes and such belong to me alone and were concocted after these fine folks checked it out.

Harry was seated at his desk at the Ministry, supposedly working. In actuality, he was staring at the dust motes dancing in a sunbeam across the room. One of the perks of being Harry Potter, however, was that everyone assumed a blank stare meant deep thoughts rather than woolgathering.  
  
When he was at Hogwarts, Harry had believed that the life of an Auror was non-stop action--always something dramatic happening; a bad guy to foil at every turn. Harry had not considered that the Aurors he was watching at the time were dealing with the havoc caused by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. After he took on his Auror duties and witnessed a sharp drop in magical crimes to pursue, he realised that the job he had dreamed of as a student was a bit different in reality.  
  
The door of his office opened with a sharp slam against the wall, jolting him free of his pointless reverie.  
  
“Harry. It’s Mum. Something…something’s happened. Will you come have a look please?” Ron looked completely out of sorts; paler than usual, with his freckles standing out sharply against his wan skin.  
  
Harry was on his feet before Ron had released the door handle.  
  
“What’s happened? Is she hurt? How bad is it? Where’s Arthur?” Harry had his wand out and looked ready to start throwing hexes left and right.  
  
Ron shook his head, his hands spread out in a placating gesture.  
  
“It’s not like that, exactly. Hermione and Percy are with her now. Just… come with me; you’ll see. Can we take the Floo network downstairs? It’s fastest.”    
  
*********  
  
Less than half an hour later, Ron and Harry were standing in the living room at the Burrow. It was the same cozy room that Harry had been in many times before, with its squashy armchairs, mismatched scatter cushions, patchwork quilts placed over the sofa backs, and a crackling fire in the grate. Today, though, it felt different. The comfortable, homey feeling was gone, replaced instead with a low key sense of dread.  
  
Harry was trying to process what he was seeing, but his mind kept pushing back.  
  
Admittedly, it had been a few months since Harry had seen Molly Weasley--powerful matriarch of the Weasley family, one of the many heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts, and a surrogate mother to Harry himself. This, however, was not what he would have anticipated.  
  
Molly was lying back on a settee, her face pale and drawn. Her eyes were open and clear, but did not appear to be focused on anything. Her lips were moving as if she were speaking, but no sound was brought forth.

Her arms rested peacefully at her sides, but her hands -- or more specifically, her fingers -- were moving rapidly, as if tracing shapes in space, her fingers flicking out. Percy paced on one side of the room, making no sound beyond the grunt that had served as a greeting to Harry.

“What happened to her?” Harry knelt beside the settee, gently checking Molly for any obvious wounds or marks.

“From what we’ve pieced together, it seems she’s been cursed. She’s been like this since Tuesday evening.” Hermione entered the room, carrying a tray burdened with a large teapot, several cups, and a plate of biscuits. She set it on a nearby table and turned to Harry.

“Neville and I have been cross-checking her symptoms against known magical illnesses, jinxes, curses, and potion reactions. We’ve narrowed it down to a small subset of curses that were the most likely match.” Hermione paused and bit her lower lip as her brows pulled together.

“Cursed? Who would do such a thing?”

“Dad checked her diary. She was meeting someone named Carissa Vaddlespout for tea on the day this all started. He thought the name sounded familiar, and thinks Carissa might have been with them at Hogwarts back in the day. He’s popped off to the Ministry archives to check the records and see if he can find out anything. Maybe Carissa saw something at tea, or remembers if Mum acted strangely…” Ron trailed off, a bit of biscuit crumbling from his fingers onto the carpet, the remainder forgotten on the tableside.

“Well, all right then! Surely Neville can whip up some kind of a cure? He is a rising star at St Mungo’s, right?  Youngest and most skilled Healer they’ve seen in half a century, I thought I read?” Harry came to his feet and shifted his weight back and forth anxiously.

“Yeah; it’s not quite that simple, mate.” Ron passed a cup of tea to Hermione, then poured one for Harry. “Thing is, Neville’s been trying. He knows which ingredients to mix. He’s tried what, three batches now? It has slowed it down, but it isn’t a cure. That’s why we need your help, actually.”

Harry was nervous now. The idea that Neville, who had turned out to have such a way with Healing, could be stymied by this was not reassuring.

“You know I’d do anything for your Mum, Ron; it’s just not my area. I wouldn’t know where to begin if Neville can’t do it.” Harry looked a bit petrified as he clutched his tea. One of the downsides to being _Harry Potter_ was the level of expectation that was thrust upon you.

Hermione stepped forward and laid a hand reassuringly on Harry’s arm.

“We know what the problem with the cure is, actually. I think we are rushing through this too fast. It’s overwhelming. Let’s go sit down, have our tea, and I will talk us through it.”

“What about…?” Harry gestured at Molly, who was still moving her hands, still staring at nothing.

“Even though Neville’s mix can’t cure her, it’s definitely stabilised her and prevented the curse from progressing. It’s bought us time.” Ron swept some wisps of red hair back from Molly’s forehead, fondly. “We’re watching her ‘round the clock. Perce will take over.”

Percy was already crouched at Molly’s side when Harry looked back before moving into the kitchen.

*********

Two pots of tea and a rather alarming amount of biscuits later, Harry had a much better grasp of the scenario and how he fit into the solution.

“So this tincture has two main ingredients. The Stickleburr is no problem?” Harry held up his fingers and ticked one off.

“Right. St Mungo’s has plenty of medicinal quality Stickleburr; it’s used in loads of different things. The Diggenscomb is the issue. It is almost never used in magical healing anymore. On the rare occasion that it is, the greenhouse-grown version has always been suitable. However, it just isn’t working for this tincture.”

Hermione took a sip of tea before continuing.

“Neville and I went through every book of arcana we could find that referenced the plants, the curse, or the blend. What we found is that there are some very specific growing and harvesting recommendations for Diggenscomb, in order to maximize it’s magical properties. It’s fascinating, really; it starts all the way back at planting. You need to soak the seed in goat’s milk for a full day before--”

Ron gave Hermione a gentle tap on her forearm.

“All right, Cleverclogs; Harry doesn’t need to grow it himself.” Ron turned towards Harry. “The good news is that we’ve found a potential source of Diggenscomb, all grown very proper and wizardly. The bad news is...well…”  looked away from Harry, and began rubbing a hand absentmindedly over the back of his neck.

“It’s found in the gardens at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa was somewhat of a horticulturist, and apparently was rather well-known for producing some of the rarer plants and herbs.”  Hermione flicked her eyes to her husband, who was now pink in the ears.

Harry’s mouth made a funny, down-turned shape. “Malfoy. Really?”

Hermione tsked. “It’s been two years, Harry. He’s not living the high life, you know. He had to take on the Manor when Lucius and Narcissa divorced, and I can’t imagine what it costs to maintain that kind of estate. I’m not suggesting he’s some kind of a saint, although he is trying to make amends. He’s paid restitutions for the crimes of his family; he’s renounced Dark Magic and all his family’s actions in support of Voldemort; and frankly, I doubt he has had the time to get up to any mischief; I’ve heard he eats, sleeps, and breathes for his shop.”

“Okay, okay. So, Narcissa...”

“Yeah; get this, mate: Mrs Malfoy threw ‘dark dinner parties.’” Ron’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “One of the reasons for all this advanced gardening stuff was so she could be a better cook than the next dark witch.”

“You’re joking.” Harry felt the grin spread over his face.

“Nah; we found some _Daily Prophet_ clips raving about Narcissa Malfoy’s ‘exclusive dinner soirées’ and her ‘famous harvest roast.’ I suppose even a couple of pillocks like Avery and Nott appreciate a social gathering provided there is food, eh?”  

“But that was all Narcissa. Draco owns the Manor now. We don’t even know if he still has these plants, or follows all the crazy rules for them if he does, or whatever.”

“That is true.” Hermione frowned slightly. “Although his potions shop might have use for Diggenscomb, so I’m hoping that he’s kept the garden up. He does do quite a bit of business.”

Harry stared blankly at Hermione.

“His shop, Harry. In Diagon Alley. Elixirs of Excellence?” Hermione was doing that _thing._ Harry was very familiar with that thing. That Hermione thing. Her eyes would start to narrow, her lips would attempt to purse, and somehow, each word would make Harry feel stupider than the last.

“Pffft. Yes, I know it,” Harry said, slightly miffed. “Just didn’t know it was, erm, so successful. So I assume you want me to go after him for the possession of Dark Objects? Gain entry into the shop, dig around and see if I can find this plant? And if that fails, do the same at the Manor?”

Ron and Hermione were both wide-eyed with surprise.

“Errrr...no, Harry. Not at all. We thought...we…” Ron’s hands flew up defensively, as he shook his head side to side -- his unmistakable ‘leave me out of this mess’ gesture. “Fine; _I_ thought you were the best choice, because of the _tension.”_

Harry did not want to go for another round with that Hermione _thing,_ so he cudgeled his brain as fast as possible for words.

“The what now?” _Fecking brilliant, Potter,_ he thought to himself.

Hermione was as red as a tomato, and had started fidgeting in her chair.

“The tension. Between you and Draco. It’s been there since first year; come on, don’t pretend you’ve no idea what I’m on about!  All the jibes, the taunts...the constant attention to one another…”

Harry blinked, and tried to look as if he had even the slightest idea what Hermione was talking about.

Hermione pushed back her chair and stood carefully, smoothing her jumper while announcing that she needed the loo. She hurried from the room, still blushing to her toes.

Ron shook his head with a grin. “I just wanted to make her say it. She can’t do it, my virtuous little bookworm. She means the sexual tension between you and Malfoy that’s thick enough to top with marmalade and call brekkie, mate.”  Another biscuit vanished into Ron’s mouth.

“I beg your pardon, Ronald Weasley?”

Ron chuckled smugly. 

“Right. Just go to the shop, give him a bit of a chat up, and see if he’s got the plants. Might get yourself a nice time out of it.”  Ron’s grin had reached epic proportions. 

*********

Harry stood in Diagon Alley, a few shops down from Elixirs of Excellence. He was waiting for the right time to enter, when the shop was empty of customers. A spot of privacy seemed best for this; after all, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were not known to be the closest of friends. 

Hermione had not been kidding about how busy this place was, though; it seemed like every time he was ready to make his move, someone else appeared and slipped inside. Malfoy must really be as good at potions as he had always claimed.

Finally, the time seemed right. He hurried forward while the coast appeared clear. He reached for the bronzed door handle just as a tiny, elderly witch was exiting. Harry opened the door wide, trying to be polite.

“Ah! Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!” she exclaimed loudly, accidentally bashing his knee with one of her parcels as the door closed slowly behind her, blocking Harry from entering while she stood beaming at him.

“Erm...good afternoon, ma’am,” Harry smiled as he flicked his eyes towards the shop’s interior.

Draco was leaning decadently against the counter with his elbows propping him up and his long and slim legs stretched out before him. A small grin played over his lips as he watched the interaction outside the door.

Harry felt his face heating up. The old witch had a hold of his hand now, and was pumping it up and down in a ridiculously exaggerated handshake. She was going on about how she had never doubted him, and what a marvelous hero he was, and wasn’t this just the best potions shop in all of Diagon Alley?

Harry tried to glance at Draco discreetly, who had now placed a hand over his mouth to hide his obvious smirk.

As Harry attempted to extract himself from the grip of the tiny woman holding him in place, a group of three well-heeled witches rounded the corner, making a beeline for the shop’s door. Harry was just able to tug his new acquaintance out of the way before the trio ran her down in their haste to enter.

The tiny witch was finally babbling her farewells, but when Harry glanced in the window again, Draco was at a shelf, passing a small phial down to one of the new customers.

Harry scowled. This was not working. He’d come back tomorrow. First thing in the morning, right when the shop opened. Maybe he should bring tea? He shook himself; logistics later.

As he walked past the shop’s windows, he caught Draco’s eye. One elegantly pale eyebrow arched up in a silent question. Harry felt his face burn again, jammed his hands in his pockets, and kept walking.

*********

The next morning, Harry was at the entrance to Elixirs of Excellence with two steaming to-go teas from the posh shop on the High Street in hand, right as Draco came to unlock the front door.

“Oh! You’ve returned, Potter. Is there something I can do for you, after all?”  Draco held the door open with a wolfish smile, not quite moving far enough out of the way. Harry had to turn sideways and brush against him to get past. His pulse had already begun jumping, and a slow drag of his backside against Malfoy just to enter the building sent it pounding like a herd of centaur.

“Ahhhh… yes. Sorry about yesterday. You just seemed really busy.”  Harry set the tea down on the counter and gave his shirt collar a tug.

“And so you’ve returned with gifts. Nice one, Potter.” Draco took one of the teas and slid onto the high stool near the counter. “So; what brings you here?”

“Curses.”

 “Excuse me?”

“Curses. I’ve been doing some reading, and apparently a lot of curses or curse symptoms can be cured with potions. It might be useful in the future. I thought I should come and talk with an expert.”

Draco sipped at his tea, wearing a puzzled expression.

“Have you taken a job at St Mungo’s? Surely the pay isn’t that bad for Aurors. Or have the job requirements been expanded to include more restorative tasks?”

“Nice to see somethings never change, Malfoy.” _Like your attitude,_ Harry thought. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of cursed objects, which falls under my area of expertise. I was hoping that a potion - or perhaps a potion ingredient - might serve as an antidote to cursed object afflictions.”

 “Fair play. Okay. Typically with curses, I’d start with the specific symptoms. Different ingredients treat different reactions, of course. So in this presumably fictitious scenario, what sort of symptoms might we face?”

Harry tapped his chin, and pretended to be deep in thought. “Immobilisation...like paralysis.”

“Good start. So from a potions standpoint, I’d begin with flowering plants--angiosperms. Give me some more.”

“Twitching. A lack of focus.”

“Gross or fine?”

“What?”

“The twitching. Are we talking gross movements?” Draco waved his arms about. “Or fine ones?”  He wiggled his fingers.

“Oh. Erm let’s say fine.”

“It could be conkers, then. That’s in the soapberry family; it causes spasms, paralysis, and quite a number of other pleasantries. So potions that have ingredients to counteract the symptoms of soapberry poisoning might also serve to relieve or counteract the symptoms of your hypothetical curse.”  Draco walked to a bookshelf, and bent over to pluck a bottle from the lower shelf. Harry pretended he was not looking at the fit of Draco’s charcoal trousers over the swell of Draco’s pert arse.

“So this philter has thyme, which is an antispasmodic, in it.” He pressed it into Harry’s hand and went for another bottle on a different shelf. “Now this one has anti-paralytic _and_ an anti-spasmodic, which might be more effective in dealing with your cursed object. It contains agrimony, thyme, alocasia, Diggenscomb, and hyocamus. It smells like melted tyres, though, and tastes even worse.”

Harry set the two bottles on the counter. The more powerful one, that contained the troublesome Diggenscomb, was in a slim green phial, set with a cork and sealed with a deep emerald-green wax. He could see liquid inside but the glass was quite thick, so he couldn’t hazard a guess as to the potion’s actual characteristics.

“Alright. So, what’s this really all about then, Potter. I am quite certain you did not bring yourself down here two days in a row to run hypothetical cursed object potion scenarios with me. You are best friends with Granger after all. Out with it.”  Draco was piercing Harry with those grey eyes of his, pinning him in place. 

Harry briefly considered lying. He realized however, that Draco’s direct help would be invaluable in getting what Neville what he needed quickly.

“It’s complicated.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. He pulled his wand out, pointed it at the front of the shop, and muttered some incantations under his breath. The locks on the door clicked into place, the blinds over the windows drew themselves shut, and the “Sorry, We Are Closed!” sign flipped into place.

“You have my absolutely undivided attention, Potter.” Draco propped his chin in his hand.

Resigned to it, Harry took a breath and launched into the story. Draco listened attentively, interjecting only to ask for clarification on a few points. When Harry had finished, Draco wore a confused expression.

“Molly Weasley though... Merlin knows I’ve given that family my share of trouble over the years, but truly who would wish her ill now, after all this time?”  

Harry shook his head. “I’ve no idea. All I know is that Neville and Hermione think maybe if we can get properly cultivated Diggenscomb, we can cure Molly and she might be able to help us solve all this.”

“Well, you managed to do something right, Potter. You came to the right expert. All my magical herbs are grown to proper specifications. And I harvested a good lot of Diggenscomb on the last blood moon, just as recommended.”

Draco paused, lightly biting his bottom lip for a brief moment. Harry tried not to stare.

“I’ll tell you what, Potter. Come by the Manor for dinner tonight - I’ll cook. And I promise… I will make certain you do not leave without getting everything that you need.”  

*********

Harry stood in the kitchen wearing a slightly dazed expression. He was here, in Malfoy Manor, for dinner. Dinner with Draco. The boy that Harry had felt an attraction to immediately upon meeting him years ago. The boy - now _very much man_ \- that he still found his breath catching and heart beating just a bit faster for. Things had taken a rather rapid turn after years of pining...one moment Harry had been rather transparently asking for help for Molly Weasley and the next it seemed...Draco had been asking Harry round to his place? 

Harry stared down at the glass of deep red wine in his hand. If Malfoy had leapt straight to asking him here, to preparing a meal for Harry, all by hand too - he hadn't used magic except to pull a large pan from a storage cupboard - did that mean that maybe Malfoy harbored a bit of secret feeling as well? Harry swallowed around a lump that was beginning to form in his throat. 

Draco was near the stove, tipping chopped vegetables from a cutting board into a pan.

“I never....it...it wasn’t supposed to go so far, you know.”

Harry looked up from the wineglass he had been swirling in his hand. Draco had his back to Harry, his olive shirt stretched across his shoulders as they moved, shifting things in the saucepan.

“I just thought following the Dark Lord would make my father...” Draco paused, running the long fingers of one graceful hand through his hair.

Harry clutched the stem of his wineglass tighter, wondering why his mouth had suddenly gone bone dry.

“...I don’t know. Make him suddenly decide to respect me?” Draco huffed a small laugh. “Stupid. And then people were getting hurt. Killed. Everything was going wrong.”

He turned to face Harry, and the haunted look in his eyes made Harry’s heart twist painfully in his chest. He took two slow steps forward, only the butcher block separating them.

“It wasn’t supposed to go that way. I didn’t want to be some...villain. It was the notion of power, that’s all. My father only ever respected power, and it was the only way he’d ever respect me. All for nothing though, in the end.”   

Draco spread his hands flat on the countertop, just a bit beyond the midline. Quite close to where Harry’s hand rested. Now that he’d noticed it, Harry couldn’t keep his hands still. He tried not to look at it; not to fidget. It wasn’t working, his thumb was twitching closer to Malfoy’s hand every second.

“Draco…” Harry’s voice cracked in the most embarrassing way. He scowled and tried again.

“Draco. You’ve done so much to show where you stand now. I know it’s still not enough, that you still get slagged off, that some people still don’t trust you. You have changed, though. Just look at the response to your shop. People come to you in droves. They wouldn’t come if they thought you were still capable of the things in your past.

“I see you differently too. You are such a different man when you aren’t trying to curry favour with your Dad. You’re still a sarcastic self important tosser, mind you. You’re just a slightly nicer one than I expected." 

Draco raised his eyebrows with a smile. When Harry merely blinked, Draco tipped his chin down at the table. Harry glanced down to see he had taken Draco’s hand into his own, and was now tenderly stroking the back of it with his thumb.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Draco gave a soft laugh, and leaned forward, his grey eyes playful. Playful, yet smouldering beneath that veneer of mischief. Ready to pretend this was just a game if rejection was at hand. Harry had known more than a few blokes who used that tactic; the shield of ‘oh, it was just a bit of messing about’, or ‘you didn’t think I was serious, surely?!’

Harry was ready to be done with games. He launched forward himself, meeting Draco across the counter, and capturing his lips in a kiss.

When they broke apart, Draco bumped his forehead to Harry’s.

“About bloody time. How many years have we both been waiting for the other to make THAT move? I feel we really missed a trick there, Potter.”  Draco grinned.

“We’ve both been prats. Waiting for the other to say something or do something. I am finally done with wasting time.” Harry brought his hand up, slipping it around the nape of Draco’s neck, as he pressed against Draco’s warm mouth again.

*********

The autumn air had a wonderful crisp bite to it; not yet cold, yet no longer what could be called warm. It was the best time of year. Colorful leaves in blazing shades adorned the trees - reds, oranges, golds - and those that had already fallen made a satisfying crunch when trod upon.

The kitchen was comfortably warm and fragrant from the multitude of dishes that had been cooking all day. Two perfect, golden loaves of crusty bread had just been pulled from the oven and sat upon a rack, steam rising up in thick plumes from them. Draco stood nearby, cradling a mug of tea in his hands as he reviewed a faded scrap of parchment.

“Nmmmmmmm….” Harry cupped a hand over one loaf and made a scooping motion, wafting the scent toward his face. “Merlin, that smells absolutely amazing. What did you put in it?”

 “Fresh rosemary. Pinch of thyme. Maybe a spot of something else from the herb garden; I’ll never tell.”

 Harry made a moue, while reaching for the stoneware dish with the butter slab on it. His other hand was rising from his side, it’s trajectory quite clearly the nearest loaf.

“Accio, butter!” Draco said quickly. Harry’s eyes widened as the butter dish zipped from under his outstretched hand and right into Draco’s waiting one.

“I promise, Potter, you can gorge yourself on the leftovers. AFTER.”

Harry grinned, and Draco’s knees went a bit weak. Since first year, that grin had done things to him. Harry stepped forward, took the butter and placed it on the counter, then wrapped himself around Draco, and his knees went even weaker.

“I will behave. It just all smells amazing.” Harry nuzzled the underside of Draco’s jaw, planting small kisses and nosing against his warm skin. “Although the chef smells delicious as well…”

Draco was grateful Harry had a good firm grip because his knees buckled entirely when Harry gave a tiny but rather strong nip on Draco’s very sensitive neck, then soothed the spot with his tongue.

“AH! Fuck’s sake, Potter, we are hosting guests for dinner and you choose NOW to administer love bites? Fucking menace.” His hand stroked tenderly through Harry’s dark hair, reassurance that his words were mostly pretense.

They stood entwined in the kitchen, enjoying this oddly domestic moment that neither had ever planned on. 

Since providing the herbs that finally cured Molly Weasley, Draco and Harry had been seeing much more of each other. At first, Harry had the excuse of returning to Elixirs of Excellence to explain how Molly’s old school mate Carissa had been the one who cursed Molly at tea that day, out of jealousy from her purported “fame and celebrity”. A few days later Draco had dropped by the Auror’s office to follow up on Molly’s recovery. Before they realized it, they were meeting for dinner, or taking in Quidditch matches together, or having a spot of tea after work. It wasn’t until Hermione asked how Harry felt about dating Draco that he realized that’s exactly what was happening.

Both Harry and Draco were perfect delighted to continue on that way, too.

Draco’s lips unconsciously curved upward into a smile as the bells of the door echoed through the Manor.

“They’re here.” Harry spoke softly against his ear, followed by the gentle press of warm lips against his neck. “Let’s go.”

Harry’s fingers threaded through Draco’s and pulled him from the room. Draco felt almost giddy as he approached his own door.

‘Please, just let this go well.’ He thought to himself.

Harry slipped one arm snugly around Draco’s waist before pulling the front door open wide.

“Hullo boys, I’ve brought wine!” Arthur Weasley said, stepping aside to let Molly enter first.

She grinned widely, and bussed Harry on the cheek. Then turned and did the same to Draco, squeezing him a bit tightly as she whispered “thank you” in his ear.

“Something smells positively heavenly!” Molly exclaimed, shrugging free from her coat. “Please tell me it’s dinner.”

“It is, indeed.” Draco replied, trying to hide a smile. “My mother’s harvest roast and some other old family recipes, getting some new life.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/154726.html).


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